


Never Too Late

by thescienceofsherlolly



Series: Sherlollicious [39]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mind Palace, Post-The Final Problem, Theoretical character death, let's face it none of us can live without molly hooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 23:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13134375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: After the events at Sherrinford, Sherlock retreats into his mind palace.





	Never Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> anon on tumblr asked: I wish you would write a fic where Sherlock realises he can't live without Molly ♥♥

He doesn’t remember how he made it out of the facility but here he was, sitting on the edge of an ambulance with a blanket wrapped around him and some interfering doctor flashing a light into his eyes. Greg was inconsolable and John was attempting to comfort him but Sherlock paid them no mind.

He was numb. Ever since the screens displaying Molly’s flat had gone black, he’d gone into shock and stumbled through the rest of his sister’s trials, barely registering anything that happened. His sister’s words resonated in his mind.

_“Oh, if only she’d picked up…”_

His hands bled from the ferocity of the blows he dealt to Molly’s coffin and his throat sore from shouting for her. He didn’t care.

It wasn’t going to bring her back.

The next few days passed by slowly. John brought Rosie around as often as he could, giving them their quality time – he knew his friend needed to grieve and he feared, this time, he could lose him. Thankfully, John wasn’t alone. Mrs. Hudson did her best and even Mycroft made an effort to shield his brother from images and stories about the explosion in Molly’s flat.

Sherlock avoided the funeral despite everyone’s attempts to convince him otherwise. It wasn’t his place, he didn’t deserve to attend. He’d failed to save her life and, in doing so, revoked his rights to pay his last respects. Instead, the detective contemplated his stash of cocaine – he had enough to join her and it would be easy. So easy, the easiest thing he’d ever done…and they’d be together. Still, Sherlock couldn’t help thinking about what Molly would do when he arrived. The image provided his first smile since her death, a smile that barely lifted and was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

He was back at Bart’s in no time, throwing himself into work.

Sherlock stared into the cold, dead eyes of the new pathologist – Doctor Herrer was a polite and well-mannered woman and a competent pathologist, well-respected by those in her field. Her attempts to connect with him went over his head as he settled at his stool and worked. She brought him coffee and scones. The coffee was far too good and the scones went untouched. She would repeatedly call him out, stating the same old rubbish about being a nice person, but Sherlock never paid any attention. Herrer gave up in no time, a move that only relieved the detective.

It was several weeks later when he finally felt ready to go to her flat.

Flowers had been left outside the building, poems, tributes and teddy bears placed in remembrance. Gathered crowds muttered about the ‘shocking’ event and shed tears for the woman they didn’t know. He didn’t leave anything, knowing full well he had nothing left. Everything he ever had was destroyed in the explosion and he’d been too much of an idiot to realise it until it was too late. He spotted Toby gazing up at his old home and his stomach lurched. The cat looked thinner and helpless. They watched each other until the detective turned his back, walking away. If Toby followed him home, neither of them ever questioned it.

* * *

Sherlock’s heart pounded, his fingers twitching restlessly behind his back as he waited; it was as if he was at Sherrinford all over again, waiting, _praying_ for her to pick up the phone. Relief didn’t begin to describe hoe he felt when he saw the light creep from under her door and hear footsteps coming towards him. The door opened and he took in Molly Hooper, grumpy from sleep and clad in her favourite tatty pyjamas. She didn’t seem as pleased to see him as he was her, however.

“What do you want?”

He had a speech prepared. However, after the emotion of his mental scenario and seeing her again before him, his brain couldn’t seem to emember what it was. All he said was:

“I meant it. I love you.”

Molly seemed surprised for a brief moment. She chewed her lip, folding her arms; she sounded more vulnerable that she appeared, “I can’t afford to get hurt again. I just…can’t.”

“Neither can I,” he admitted, taking a daring step forwards into her personal space. When she didn’t retreat, his hands rose to her cheeks, smoothing away the tears that had started to fall, “we’ll make this right.”

Molly nodded, covering his hands with her own, “…you’d better come in, then.”


End file.
